


Old habits die hard

by drarrylicious



Category: StarKid Productions RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst and light Smut, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Never over it! AU, it's a weird one honestly but mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarrylicious/pseuds/drarrylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it is a song, her name being vaguely mentioned in a concert, when everyone knows Darren’s not the type that dedicates. Sometimes, and more often, it is a text in the middle of the night and a rushed, secret meeting in a motel that ends before 3am and leaves them feeling cold and ashamed for the rest of the night because –what kind of sick person leaves their partner sleeping alone in the bed, while they go to fuck their ex in a motel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old habits die hard

**Author's Note:**

> Idk. I'm not sure what this is.  
> I AM SO BITTER????  
> Mentions of sex.

**Old habits die hard**

I.

Instead of a song, his teeth crushing against hers when a smile interrupts the kiss.

Lauren knows that at this point it’s naïve, and almost summoning to say the word _never_ out loud, or even to recall it repeatedly in her head, so she avoids to say it as long as it’s possible. Because every time feeling like a last one makes it sweeter and stimulating to the core, but once you’ve made up your mind about never, never-fucking-ever again a) go home with, b) call at 3am, c) drunk-text, d) run into purposively at a party, or (let’s just) e) etc. someone, it is pretty degrading and shameful for your own self-esteem to go back to what hurt you.

But then Darren does something idiotic and particularly typical of him, and she knows she has loosened the grip in this tug of war.

And she ends up –she _has_ ended up, in this situation several times in the past to even feel surprised about it. It’s more like that one thing you know you’ll have to avoid to tell your best friend, because _we’ve had this conversation a freaking million times, I can’t believe you’d do this again_ _when_ – fuck no, she wasn’t going to give Julia the satisfaction.

So she ignores Julia’s _where-the-hell-are-you_ text when a voice behind her asks quietly: “Want something to drink?”

“Mmm,” Lauren takes three seconds to decide if she should spit it out or not, but hell –since when they keep things from each other? “If you have something that will make me feel less shameful of ending up in here again, I’ll take it.”

Lauren can almost feel him grinning behind her neck, “I have something exactly right for that.”

II.

Instead of a song, the subtle though peculiar bright in his eyes when he’s had more than enough to drink, his eyelids weighting a tad more than usual, and his grip less firm –but more precise, falling on her knee after he hands her a glass of scotch.

Lauren gives him a questioning look.

“You asked,” Darren clarifies, a shoulder comes up to shrug slightly.

“You will officially need to give me a coffee in the morning,” Lauren warns. They both know that she handles alcohol like a pubescent, but if she wants this to happen (and _does_ _she_ want it…) she needs to chill a bit because Julia’s texts had made her nervous and, well, the fact that they are spending Saturday’s midnight in Darren’s apartment sharing a talk on his bed instead of with their respective partners, was a bit off-putting if you thought about it for long.

Darren smiles so wide at the mention of Lauren staying until the morning that it seems likely that he’ll start dancing or do something really embarrassing.

“You’ll have your coffee and a pair of croissants, along with morning sex, hopefully.”

“ _God,_ Darren! You’re the _worst_.” Lauren frowns and her eyes widen in shock because there are things that you _just do and don’t tell_ , but Darren just laughs it off so spontaneously she can’t help but to follow him, and she still sentences him –even when that works her way as well, “You’re going to hell.”

“I know,” he almost chants as the laugh fades, and he leans closer, teeth grazing her jaw.

His lips are in the corner of her mouth before she can tell, and she knows the scotch still hasn’t hit her, but the sensation of his breath against her skin makes her want to drown in it. His fingertips place so familiarly on the curve of her neck to hold her still, that it seems they’ve memorized what exact pores of skin are the ones named after him.

A sensation of relief settles in her stomach, and she wonders how did she even doubt it. He wants this as much as she does.

III.

Instead of a song, the way his lips catch hers like a lost pet finding the way home.

She doesn’t want to start being –well, the way she usually is when she’s not sitting on Darren’s bed in a Saturday night, because she doesn’t want to ruin this; but the thought of the same lips maybe kissing anyone else maybe in that exact same way crosses her mind. She wants to snap it out, to scream at it. _Fuck off, catch me in the morning, I don’t want to hear this right now, and you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know._

But the thought crosses her mind again when Darren’s tongue is trying to find the way inside of her mouth. She lets his tongue explore inside of her, as she lets his hands to press so tightly against her thigh until the likelihood of a scratch was high, and (probably, hopefully) as she will let him fuck her for hours until panting is everything that their throats can allow to slip out. A part of her wants him to scratch her skin, and leave love bites all over her body, and to fuck her so bad she can no longer say anything but his name; so maybe she can do the same and mark every single thing about him, let the world know _: he only smiles like this for me. He only kisses like this for me. He only fucks like this for me._

She knows it’s not only selfish, but also hypocrite and –to be honest, quite disturbing. But the thought of it has already put her in the mood; not that Darren snogging her and his hands lifting up her dress hadn’t helped, but she lets this fantasy to take over and she starts kissing harder and faster, her hands pulling from his clothes in a sign of yearning.

“Pillow,” Lauren merely whispers among tangled tongues and harsh breathes, and he understands instantly.

Darren grins into the kiss and he’s already climbing on top of her and – _god_ , Lauren thinks, _he’s such a greedy guy and years won’t change that_ ; foreplay never lasts too long with him because he gets hard at the only mention of a pillow, apparently.

Lauren crawls until her head finds the pillow to rest and continue to be felt up in a more comfortable position. She has dragged Darren along with her, and he hasn’t wasted a second before going back to snogging her, now his weight falling upon her and, _oh_.

IV.

Instead of a song, the sound of his voice going out of breath in the middle of a moan, colliding against her ears like the finest melody.

Darren pretends to play around some more; he kisses, sucks, and rubs every part of her that he knows will make her lose her fucking mind in ten seconds, even though they both just want to get on with it because at this point, they are used to fuck hard, quickly and secretly, in uncomfortable positions and with the fear (and excitement) of getting caught just around the corner; their groans crushing into each other’s palms and post-sex confessions dying at the tip of their tongues, because _time is running out_ and _life goes on_ and there are things you _just do and don’t tell._

They have time now, and shit they even have _a bed_ ; they have Darren’s house for them all night but it’s the habit that makes them that way. So Lauren’s nails still cling on the skin of his back as a moan comes out through her gritted teeth. They struggle through a bit more before Lauren whimpers and gives Darren the satisfaction of being her the one who asked for it.

It’s different. They have time, and a bed, and they don’t have to whisper, which is unusual but they learn to seize it, eventually. There’s something disquieting, but also arousing about lying on the same bed someone else lies on –has probably lied on recently, and getting fucked by the same person someone else gets fucked –has probably gotten fucked recently; because even when she has no certain reason to, she believes that you can’t share this connection with two people, and _fuck_ it _has_ to be her! She’s the one he’s calling at 3am, and she’s the one he can’t help but to touch every time they meet –even if it’s just a hand while walking by or a feet pressing under the table.

They are drawn to each other every time they promise to never come back; and isn’t that enough to prove they are meant for one another?

She struggles to define whether she believes it or she needs to believe it.

V.

Instead of a song, his hair wildly untidy as he peacefully breathes in his sleep, and the sun comes up.

She’d like to wake up to that more often.

“You promised me coffee, and croissants.” Lauren cries out, quietly, as she gently pokes his cheek, playfully but not too much.

Darren twitches, but doesn’t open his eyes. “In a minute.”

“You also mentioned something about morning sex.”

Darren’s hand finds her waist under the sheets and he pulls her closer, still without the need of opening his eyes, guessing her exact position skillfully –he has always had a sixth sense when it comes to her.

“Don’t raise expectances you can’t fulfill.” He warns, his voice thin.

Lauren laughs and proves him wrong.

He goes for the coffees and the croissants, eventually. They eat, naked, and careful to not spill any coffee.

A sudden feeling of jealousy hits her again, but this time it is pure and it doesn’t arise anything but melancholy. She doesn’t get the best bits, after all. She doesn’t get breakfast in the morning, or naps before work, or brushing their teeth at night, or zapping through the TV channels before falling to sleep.

She tries to snap that thought out again. They might not be a couple anymore, but there are things that are exclusive for them. That, she can’t doubt.

Sometimes it is a song, her name being vaguely mentioned in a concert, when everyone knows Darren’s not the type that dedicates. Sometimes, and more often, it is a text in the middle of the night and a rushed, secret meeting in a motel that ends before 3am and leaves them feeling cold and ashamed for the rest of the night because –what kind of sick person leaves their partner sleeping alone in the bed, while they go to fuck their ex in a motel?

Sometimes it was nothing more than an exchange of glances, because people are inconveniently around, and why do even other people exist? Lauren often wished they didn’t.  Sometimes, and usually, it was a rough fuck session in someone’s bathroom. More usual than what it was prideful to tell. But they had spent years of living in separate cities where they met for only six hours after four months and, as Darren has said a dozen of times –with his face covered in sweat and zipping up his jeans, _you get what you get_.

 Sometimes they don’t get to meet. But somehow it is still exclusive. And that’s what Lauren tries to remind herself.

She might not get the domestic mornings to herself, but she still gets Darren’s mind after four glasses of whiskey, she still gets the lead role during his shower wanks, the _it’s-5-am-and-I-can’t-sleep-thinking-about-you_ nights, the old songs played in the radio every Thursday afternoon, the inevitable grins at the mention of her name; because there are habits that are so deeply immersed in your roots that you no longer can shake off.

She knows she might be just another habit, as well, but she thinks she can live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> ???? Idk. Thoughts?


End file.
